color of the night
by faithsette
Summary: "Their feet move in time together, dancing to a song that can't be heard, crickets creating a choir in the background and merging with the soft rippling of the river in the distance." One shot, post kill shot.


underneath a harvest moon

standing on your shoes in my bare feet

dancing to the rhythm of your heartbeat

\- heartbeat, carrie underwood

* * *

She's slumped against the car door, head propped in the palm of her hand where it rests gently against the window, eyes following the blur of the trees as they pass. They've finally changed colors, shades of reds and oranges blending into an autumn canvas right before her.

Her breathing is steady even as her heart thumps in her chest, crashing against her ribs in anticipation, in residual anxiety brought on from the sniper case they've managed to close only yesterday.

"I can hear you thinking," he says, breaking the silence that's already so unlike him. "Everything's all right."

She hums, chancing a glance his way just long enough to notice his eyes on her, a gentle smile on his face before he turns back to the road. He's already focused on the bumper of the car in front of them by the time she manages to return the smile, but she knows he catches it out of the corner of his eye by the way his widens ever so slightly.

Her fingers reach out to fiddle with the radio, turn the dial in an attempt to get anything more than white noise.

"No reception, huh?"

"We're too far out," he explains. "Nothing but static on the radio."

She shifts in the seat, sitting up straighter until she's no longer leaning against the door. Her legs cross in front of her, toes tickling the bottom of the dashboard after she's shoved off her shoes.

"And _where_ exactly is it that we're going?"

He smiles. "That's the surprise, Beckett. I promise you'll enjoy it." A brow arches. "And if you don't, you can deal with me in whatever way you see fit."

She huffs, rolls her eyes at the waggle of his eyebrows accompanying the tail half of his statement, and lolls her head back into the headrest. There's something unnerving about not knowing where she's going, about the unknown, but it's Castle and despite his faults, his childish antics, she trusts him enough to know that he wouldn't take her somewhere she'd be uncomfortable.

He hasn't even said what this is about, yet, only mentioned something about a day of relaxation and wanting her to accompany him on a small trip. This _small trip_ turned out to be an overnight affair, of which she still has no idea what it encompasses. A part of her is surprised she'd even agreed to come, and another part wishes she hadn't if only because spending the night with him is all sorts of compromising, but the look of genuine hope and encouragement that flickered in his eyes was too much to turn down.

"I'll hold you to that," she murmurs, the corners of her mouth tugging upwards. She turns her attention to the road ahead, taking note of the distinct lack of other cars, the way the trees seem to double in size and number. "Not that I'm not enjoying this riveting display of white noise, but exactly how far is this secret location?"

"Sleep," he says by way of response. "It'll be a few hours still."

She shakes her head. "Not tired," she mumbles, despite the fact that she can feel the fatigue nipping at her heels. Sleep hasn't come easily to her the past few days, her consciousness instead keeping her wide awake, tossing and turning with the threat of sniper flashes if her eyes fall closed.

He tears his eyes from the road for a few seconds to look at her. "You're not all that convincing when you're tired, you know," he muses, and she levels him with a glare.

"I'm fine, Castle."

"There's a blanket in the backseat if you change your mind." He reaches one arm reaching blindly into the back to grab it anyway, and then he holds it out for her. "Microfiber polyester, _softest_ of the soft," he sings, shaking the fabric in his fingers until she takes it from him.

She lets out a content breath the second she wraps herself in the blanket, the material kissing her skin and it really is _so soft_. He hears the noise she makes and chuckles.

"Shut up," she warns, ignoring his joyful grin as she wiggles to get comfortable.

He hears her breathing even out a few minutes later and his gaze trails over to find her eyes closed, the blanket tugged up to her chin, and her head resting softly against the back of the seat.

* * *

The gentle shaking of her shoulder is what wakes her up, tugs her out of her sleepy haze. Her eyes squint as she tries to open them, blinking quickly until everything comes back into focus and she's met with—

Castle.

She lets out a moan as she sits back up, stretching as best as she can while still in the confines of the car.

"We're here, sleepyhead," he says, a soft smile on his face as he looks back at her.

She blinks. "How long was I out?" Her eyes shift past his face and catch a glimpse of their surroundings. "It's dark."

"About four hours," he laughs. " _Someone_ was more tired than they let on."

A muffled grumble is her only response as she removes the blanket from her body, tossing it into the backseat before she lets herself out of the car. Her limbs protest as they're stretched for the first time in hours, and she reaches her arms behind her back until it lets out a satisfying crack.

She moves, walking in a small circle to take in the view. It's beautiful. It's _really_ beautiful.

The sunset was hours ago, apparently, but everything's lit up by the light of the stars, the moon obscured only by thin clouds overhead. The trees go on for miles, and the gravel, grass, and branches crunch beneath her feet, the sound amplified by the vast emptiness of the area.

A cottage sits in the distance, the details hard to make out in the dark, but she's almost certain she sees a porch swing in the corner just beside the door.

"This is—wow."

He's at her side before she's even realized he moved. "A good wow, I hope?"

All she can do is nod, too captivated by the tranquility that washes over her to manage anything else. A good wow, _definitely_ a good wow. She had no idea Castle had property this far out, even less of a clue that he had a cottage. She finds it odd that he never mentioned it before, but she supposes she's never actually asked either.

"Can't see the city lights from here," she muses, her head tilted back as she looks at the stars.

He hums. "No, definitely not," he agrees, his voice soft. She feels his eyes on her now, no longer on the stars above, and she lowers her gaze to meet his. "Should we go in?"

She nods, offers him a small smile in return. He grabs both of their bags, despite her protest that she can manage on her own— _you're the guest, Kate_ —and leads her up the cobbled path to the cottage.

She shouldn't be surprised that the inside is massive, an expansive, open living area greeting them upon entering, but she _is_ surprised by the cozy atmosphere. None of the decorations are what she'd assume; they're all warm colors, deep maroons and navy blues, and the fireplace in the center brings everything together.

"Why haven't you mentioned this place before?"

He walks back towards her after dropping their bags by the staircase. "I don't know," he shrugs. "I guess it never came up."

She doesn't press, just walks further into the room and looks around. There's an adorable throw pillow on the couch, a knit blanket across the back, and she can't stop the smile that appears. It's so very not Castle, but at the same time she thinks it fits.

"So, detective, do you want hot chocolate? Coffee? An apple pie?" he rattles off. "Though, I'd have to drive back into town for the pie."

Laughing, she shakes her head. "Hot chocolate sounds great, actually."

"Marshmallows?"

"We're not barbarians, Castle. Of course."

He grins, bouncing off into the kitchen and leaving her in the living room. She leans over, catches sight of him working diligently on their drinks, and decides to check out the upstairs while she waits.

It's much smaller, not as spacious as downstairs, but it's just a nice. There are three rooms; a bathroom and two closed doors, which she can only assume is Castle's room and probably Alexis's or a spare. One of the doors is ajar, cracked open just enough to intrigue her, have her moving towards it. There's a small light in the corner, an alarm clock if the blinking numbers are any indication, and she steps further into the room, turns on a light.

It's Castle's.

This looks much more like him, a framed photo of a lion on the wall similar to the one she caught a glimpse of in the loft. It brings a smile to her face, has her shaking her head. She really shouldn't be snooping—though she's not entirely sure this is _snooping_ ; the door was open after all—but it's not like she knew this was his room when she stepped inside.

There are pictures on the dresser, a handful of them at that, and she moves to get a better look.

One of Alexis as a child, bright red hair and missing front teeth as she grins at the camera. Another's of the three of them, Castle, Alexis, and Martha, taken a few years ago around Christmas if she had to guess. It's a sweet family photo.

It's the third photo that knocks the wind out of her, causes her to blink rapidly just to make sure she's not seeing things.

On the same shelf as his family photos is one of her. She's not looking at the camera, her head dipped back in laughter, hair falling in long curls that spill over her shoulders. It's from last year, she realizes, after the bombing case when they all went out for celebratory drinks. She didn't even know he'd taken the photo.

And now it's sitting in his bedroom, in a cottage she knew nothing about, in the same place as his precious family memories.

There's a small piece of paper tucked beneath the frame, folded into a small square. It's worn, the creases all over the place as if he'd read and refolded it over and over again, and she picks it up carefully, unfolds it with shaky fingers. Its contents have tears prickling at the backs of her eyes, a lump forming in her throat.

It's just one sentence, a simple sentence. Three words written in pen, the letters etched into the material, ink dark from where he'd spilled the same message multiple times.

 _She'll be okay_.

She immediately wonders how long it's been since he's come up here, how long this paper's been sitting beneath her picture, its words echoing the reassurance he'd apparently been trying to convince himself of.

Her cheeks burn, the bullet wound in her chest tugging as if screaming at her to _tell him_ , tell him how she feels. Tell the sweet man who thinks so highly of her, who cares enough to keep her picture around even if he isn't always there to see it, who _loves her_.

"Beckett?"

She jumps at the sound of her name, scrambles to put the paper back and close the door on her way out. Her legs stop working at the top of the stairs, refuse to move, and so she stands there, runs a hand down her face to collect herself. She doesn't know if she wants to cry or smile, but she pushes back the tears and doesn't stop her mouth from rising at the edges.

Taking a deep breath, she heads back downstairs, finds Castle waiting for her at the foot of the steps.

"You okay?" he asks, intense blue eyes boring into her own.

She nods. "Had to find the bathroom," she lies easily. She's not sure if she wants to bring up what she found just yet. Her eyes fall to the mug in his hand. "That mine?"

"Oh, yeah, here you go." He smiles, hands her the steaming beverage, a whipped cream tower covering all of the hot chocolate. "I put extra marshmallows in it," he adds, whispering it like it's one of his deepest secrets.

"Thanks, Castle," she smiles.

He holds out his elbow, wiggles it in place until she links their arms together. She rolls her eyes but obliges, lets him guide her down the rest of the stairs and into the small alcove near the door.

"Want to go finish our hot chocolate on the porch?"

"Won't it just get cold faster?"

"Not if we drink quickly."

She arches a brow. "You just wanna sit on the porch swing, don't you."

He gives a sheepish smile, a boyish hopefulness in his eyes. "Please, Beckett?"

"Let's go," she laughs, rolling her eyes as she gestures for him to lead the way. "Our cold hot chocolate awaits."

* * *

"When's the last time you were up here?" she asks, her voice breaking the silence.

He takes a breath. "A few months probably."

A few months, meaning he was last here sometime during her disappearance, the three months she hid away at her father's cabin. The crumpled up piece of paper was written before he knew she was okay, served as the only kind of reassurance he could get.

Her heart clenches.

"Does Alexis like it?" she asks, willing her voice to steady.

He smiles at the mention of the girl and some of the knots loosen in her chest. "She loves it," he nods. "She hasn't come up here in a while either, doesn't have a lot of time with her school work, but it's always nice in the winter."

"You make giant snowmen out here?" she teases.

His eyes light up. "Oh, you have no idea," he exclaims, placing his mug on the wood paneling so it doesn't spill as he gestures. "Snowmen as big as you, my dear detective."

She hums. "Impressive."

"You're more than welcome to join in on this years festivities, Beckett. Whaddya say, want to make a snowman twice as large as your body? Snow angels? Snow ball fights, no holds barred?"

"I'm sure you invite all the girls, Castle," she drawls, a teasing glint in her eye masking the true curiosity.

She knows he's brought others to his home in the Hamptons, but she wonders if the same is true of this place.

"No one's ever come up here before, actually."

Her eyes jump to his. "No one?"

"You're the first," he says, the genuine tone and look in his eyes catching her off guard.

The first. She's the only person he's brought up here, aside from his mother and daughter. That's just—wow.

She gives him a soft smile. "Thanks for letting me see this place, Castle."

* * *

"You do know where you're going, right?"

He scoffs. "Of course I do," he says, twisting to glance at her. "As long as that was the right path."

"Castle—"

"Kidding, I'm kidding," he cuts her off. "Yes, I know where we're going."

She mumbles something about not wanting to die in the woods and he just huffs, shakes his head as he takes a few steps ahead of her. He has a backpack hanging off of his shoulder but refused to let her watch as he packed it, refuses now to tell her what's in it because it's yet another surprise.

The path opens into a small clearing, an area still surrounded by woods but encircling a camp setup; a pile of sticks and small twigs already set up, ready to be lit on fire, and a group of logs around it as makeshift benches.

"It's beautiful," she breathes, trailing behind him as he guides her closer. "What is this place?"

There aren't many other paths off of this clearing, which gives her the impression that not many people know of it. It's even darker now, the leaves and dirt beneath their feet only illuminated by the moon's light. It reflects off of the trees, casts shadows on the brighter areas in front of them, brings the colors dancing out into the open.

He grins. "My favorite part of the grounds," he says. "It's pretty secluded. The nearest cottage is probably five miles away, so it's pretty empty most of the time."

She hums her agreement. It comes as no surprise to her that this is his favorite spot. She thinks it's hers, too.

"Come come, sit."

He's already sitting on one of the logs and she joins him, taking a seat on the opposite side.

"You gonna show me what's in that secret bag of yours now?" she asks, a brow raised.

"Anyone ever tell you patience is a virtue, Beckett?"

"Anyone ever tell you time is of the essence?"

His eyes find hers. "You, probably," he says, dropping the bag from his shoulder and onto the log between them. "But yes, it is time for the festivities."

"Festivities?" she echos.

He reaches a hand into the bag, pulls out two metal roasting sticks, a bag of graham crackers, marshmallows, and a ridiculous amount of chocolate, completely disproportionate to the rest of the ingredients.

All of the necessary staples for s'mores are laid out on the log, but his hands reach in the bag one more time.

"If you pull out eggs and a skillet I'm leaving."

He huffs a laugh. "As delicious as a s'morelette sounds right now—" He ignores her noise of protest. "—there's not enough heat to cook the eggs. I didn't bring you out here to kill you with salmonella."

She narrows her eyes. "You've tried, haven't you."

His silence is enough of an answer and she howls, shakes her head because _of course_ he's tried to make a s'morelette in the middle of the woods, a fire as his only heat source.

"I was sick for three days," he admits quietly, adding a dramatic shudder. "No, no s'morelettes right now." He pulls out a stack of napkins instead. "Napkins, Beckett. I'm no amateur, I know how messy this can get."

"I don't recall s'mores ever being that messy."

"You've never made Castle s'mores," he corrects, a waggle of his eyebrows. "You'll definitely be needing these."

She doesn't bother asking what a Castle s'more is, just suppresses a grin as she watches him start the fire. It takes him less time than she might've expected, and it's up and going within minutes, ready to be used as a s'more station. She kicks her shoes off, lets her socked feet warm by the fire.

He hands her one of the roasting rods, shoves a marshmallow on the end of it for her.

"Okay, are you ready for the instructions?"

Her brows furrow. "On how to make s'mores? I think I've got that down." He gives her a look. "Yes, I'm ready."

"Good," he smiles. "Now, burn your marshmallow to your preferred char."

She does as she's told, laughing as Castle's marshmallow catches fire and he has to blow it out. "Now what, oh great s'more king?"

He scoffs at the name but continues, instructs her to put it into a small sandwich with the graham crackers and chocolate. It looks like a normal s'more until he tells her it's not done, makes her roast another marshmallow and place it on top of the previously constructed s'more.

Turns out the Castle s'more is just a never-ending tower of s'mores piled on top of each other until it's no longer feasible to eat.

She laughs as he tries to eat it all at once, chocolate and melted marshmallow spilling out of his perfectly constructed s'more and onto his face. He splutters, tries to catch the chocolate before it falls onto his lap but fails, lets out a high pitched squeak.

"Looks like you're the one who needs the napkins after all," she teases, holding out a handful to him.

He takes them with a huff. "Let's see you eat yours without an issue!"

She cocks her head, raises a brow at the challenge. The giant s'more already threatens to give out, spill between her fingers, and she shifts its position to get a better angle. She takes a bite, carefully holding its contents inside the graham crackers as her head follows the stringy, melted marshmallow.

It's uncoordinated, definitely not cute, but it ends without the same catastrophe as his.

She grins, licks her lips as she finishes, and watches as he pouts.

"Beginners luck," he muses, wiping off his face.

Shaking her head, she puts her s'more down onto a napkin, watches as he does the same. A silence falls between the two of them as they sit, taking in the calm of the outdoors, the crackling of the fire.

There's a rippling sound, gentle and very subtle, as if in the distance, but she hears it.

"Is that water?"

He nods. "A river," he confirms, gesturing behind them with his hands. "It runs back there, less than half a mile away probably."

It's calming, the noise, similar to the sensation she gets from the ocean waves but on a smaller scale.

She tugs her sleeves down past her palms, curls her fingers into the fabric and brings her arms up to her chest. The air is colder now, going right through the thin material of her sweater and brushing against her skin.

Her eyes stay on the fire, the flames building in strength, swaying in the wind, and she doesn't notice Castle stand until she feels him drape something over her shoulders. She twists to face him, finds his jacket now adorning her body instead of his and a soft smile on his face.

"Thanks," she murmurs, tearing her gaze away from him as she tugs the jacket tighter.

The fabric smells like him.

She holds out until he sits back down. "Why'd you bring me out here, Castle?"

"I thought you could use it," he admits. "The change of scenery, to get away from everything after that case." He takes a breath. "I know you got through it, and I'm so proud of you, but I figured it wouldn't hurt to take you out here to decompress."

The corners of her mouth tug up as she meets his eyes. "Thank you," she says honestly. "I—this is what I needed. To get away from the bright city lights and the chaos, to just breathe."

The soft smile on his face almost threatens to take her breath away.

Instead of answering he stands, extends his arm towards her. "Dance with me."

"What?" she manages, taken aback.

"Dance with me," he repeats, his face far too soft.

She looks down at her feet. "I don't have any shoes on—"

"Come on, Beckett," he entices. "Please?"

Her gaze moves from his, travels down to his outstretched hand, and she chuckles as she shakes her head, grabs his hand and lets him pull her up off the log.

"Stand on my feet."

"Castle, I'm not standing on your feet."

He wraps his arms around her waist and lifts her easily, causing her to squeak at the contact, and lets her back down so she is, in fact, standing on his feet. Her arms grab at his shoulders to steady herself. She should put some more space between them, let go of the fabric of his shirt, but she doesn't.

"There's no music," she all but whispers, her voice muffled by his chest.

The height difference is especially prominent right now, her head fitting perfectly in the crook of his neck even with the added assist of standing on his shoes.

"We don't need it," he says softly.

His arms tighten around her back to keep her from falling as he moves them away from the fire and into the open area just beyond the logs. They're still for a moment before he starts moving, guiding them in slow motions. He moves one foot at a time, swaying back and forth with her in his arms, and then he dips her out of nowhere, keeps his hands on her lower back to keep her from toppling over.

Her hair flies backwards, laughter bubbling out at the shock, and her face breaks into a wide smile.

"Nice moves," she murmurs, her eyes finding his when he brings her back up.

He grins. "You haven't seen anything yet."

Tugging her against his body, he wraps both arms until they're resting at her waist, hands clasped over her lower back. Her arms find their way around his neck and she slowly lowers her head to his chest, lets her ear press against his heart.

Their feet move in time together, dancing to a song that can't be heard, crickets creating a choir in the background and merging with the soft rippling of the river in the distance. The wind whistles, her body shivers, and Castle shifts a hand to pull his jacket tighter around her body.

Her eyes fall closed and she listens to his breathing, lets the steady rhythm soothe her nerves. The wrinkled paper with an inked prayer comes back into her mind, claws to the forefront, and she lets out a breath, links her fingers together as she plays with the hairs at the base of his neck.

"Castle?"

He hums. "Hmm?"

"I love you, too," she whispers so quietly she's not even sure she said it.

She'd have thought it was all in her mind if not for the hitch in his breath, the way his arms tighten around her. She waits for the separation, the questions, but he kisses the top of her head instead, rests his own on top.

Everything else fades away; all the anxiety, the exhaustion, the stress that's been coming to a head. It's all gone for a moment.

They have a lot to talk about, she has explaining to do, but right now, standing on his shoes in her bare feet, dancing to steps that match the rhythm of his heartbeat, there's nowhere else she'd rather be.


End file.
